Macleod of Dare eBook

The many friends Macleod had made in the South—­or
rather those of them who had remained in town till
the end of the season—­showed an unwonted
interest in this nondescript party of his; and it was
at a comparatively early hour in the evening that
the various groups of people began to show themselves
in Miss Rawlinson’s garden. That prim old
lady, with her quick, bright ways, and her humorous
little speeches, studiously kept herself in the background.
It was Sir Keith Macleod who was the host. And
when he remarked to her that he thought the most beautiful
night of all the beautiful time he had spent in the
South had been reserved for this very party, she replied—­looking
round the garden just as if she had been one of his
guests—­that it was a pretty scene.
And it was a pretty scene. The last fire of the
sunset was just touching the topmost branches of the
trees. In the colder shade below, the banks and
beds of flowers and the costumes of the ladies acquired
a strange intensity of color. Then there was
a band playing, and a good deal of chatting going
on, and one old gentleman with a grizzled mustache
humbly receiving lessons in lawn tennis from an imperious
small maiden of ten. Macleod was here, there,
and everywhere. The lanterns were to be lit while
the people were in at supper. Lieutenant Ogilvie
was directed to take in Lady Beauregard when the time
arrived.

“You must take her in yourself, Macleod,”
said that properly constituted youth. “If
you outrage the sacred laws of precedence—­”

“I mean to take Miss Rawlinson in to supper,”
said Macleod; “she is the oldest woman here,
and I think, my best friend.”

“I thought you might wish to give Miss White
the place of honor,” said Ogilvie, out of sheer
impertinence; but Macleod went off to order the candles
to be lit in the marquee, where supper was laid.

By and by he came out again. And now the twilight
had drawn on apace; there was a cold, clear light
in the skies, while at the same moment a red glow
began to shine through the canvas of the long tent.
He walked over to one little group who were seated
on a garden chair.

“Well,” said he, “I have got pretty
nearly all my people together now, Mrs. Ross.”

“But where is Gertrude White?” said Mrs.
Ross; “surely she is to be here?”

“Oh yes, I think so,” said he. “Her
father and herself both promised to come. You
know her holidays have begun now.”

“It is a good thing for that girl,” said
Miss Rawlinson, in her quick, staccato fashion,
“that she has few holidays. Very good thing
she has her work to mind. The way people run
after her would turn any woman’s head.
The Grand D——­ is said to have declared
that she was one of the three prettiest women he saw
in England: what can you expect if things like
that get to a girl’s ears?”

“But you know Gerty is quite unspoiled,”
said Mrs. Ross, warmly.

“Yes, so far,” said the old lady, “So
far she retains the courtesy of being hypocritical.”